


Fallen star

by thekuroiookami



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lemon, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot, Post-Canon, Reunions, Romance, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekuroiookami/pseuds/thekuroiookami
Summary: A state dinner takes a detour when Byleth receives a visitor out of the blue.Featuring fem!Byleth because why not.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 100





	Fallen star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LetheSomething](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetheSomething/gifts).



Five years on from a certain conversation, Byleth is at one of those interminable feasts that go from dusk to dawn. Ruling is not the tidal wave of power people make it out to be. Even after restructuring a whole country and restoring an economy, if Byleth’s advisors say that diplomacy is best conducted over a long table and too much wine, Byleth has to do that. 

Well, at least there’s food.

She’s on her third plate of venison and buttered carrots - the boredom makes her eat more than usual - when the sound of a chair dragging against the flagstones makes her look up. She pauses mid-chew.

Claude props his head on his hand, his sharp eyes glinting. “Hey, don’t stop eating on my account.”

Alright then. She lets her surprise seep into her chest for later, and picks up her fork. Claude watches her eat with a fond expression, as if he never left and she didn’t spend some nights hugging a pillow that would never be warm enough. She reaches for her wine goblet but it’s empty. 

“Oh, let me get that for you.” Claude briefly leans over the table, stealing a carafe from a surprised minor noble who Byleth had never liked much anyway. Judging by the young man’s reaction to Claude’s wink, the von Riegan bloodline is safe for a little longer.

Or is it, Byleth muses as she contemplates her knife. 

The gentle slosh of ruby liquid into her cup brings her out of her reverie. Claude sets the wine jug down and mischievously taps her on the head once. “You okay, Teach?”

She hmphs quietly and lifts the cup for a sip. Claude sits back down like a lazy, sated tiger, propping his boots on the table, much to the indignation of an older woman. 

Byleth watches him silently, cataloguing the changes since he’s been away. So much of him seems like the Claude she knew and loved. His magnificent bow is leaning against the chair, the grip showing signs of wear. His cloak ripples over the back of his chair like a measure of sunlight in the otherwise dimly lit hall. He has a new scar across the knuckles of his right hand which makes her heart ache. Has he been in more battles? Have his relations been hostile to him? Has he missed her as much as she missed him?

What she asks is, “Have you been eating well?”

The smile hovering on his lips widens into a full blown grin. He’s still devastatingly handsome, she notes. “You know me, Teach. I live to eat.”

She raises her eyebrows a fraction. “Do I?””

“Do you what?” He tilts his head, his earring catching the candlelight. She wonders how it would feel to run her fingertips down his beard.

“ _ Do _ I know you?” She swirls her wine in the goblet. “For one, I don’t know how you appeared here out of the blue, or why.”

Claude chuckles and watches her through half-lidded eyes. “How do you think? I travelled, the usual way.”

She just stares at him, knowing he’s avoiding the question. Claude just smirks back, undaunted. 

Fine. Byleth drums thoughtfully on the table. “Claude.”

“Teach?”

“Distract them and get us out of here.”

For a moment, Claude’s features are transformed by surprise, eyes wide and glimmering. Then he stands, dragging his hand through his hair in a sensuous gesture that makes her stomach flip. “Piece of cake.”

Byleth watches in quiet amusement as he lifts his bow, his shirt pulling taut over his shoulders. The buzz of conversation, the clattering of cutlery, the rustle of clothing, they all die down as Claude nocks an arrow and pulls the string.

He holds it there, far longer than any archer should be able to, especially with a bow that heavy. His voice rings out in the hall. “A kiss for the one who shoots the farthest, you say? Teach, you make it too easy.”

He lets go then, and the arrow strikes the heart of the bronze gong that summons everyone to meals. It’s not even a fraction of the distance he can actually shoot.

She nearly rolls her eyes. Suddenly everyone in the hall is scrambling to show off their prowess, if not necessarily not to her, then to the potential partners they’ve been eyeing. It’s as if Claude lit a match and threw it into a fire of repressed exhibitionism.

Byleth stands and turns to leave. “Let’s go,” she tells Claude.

She starts walking briskly, but Claude curls his fingers around hers, and starts tugging at her. Soon he’s pulling her, forcing her to run to keep up and somehow they’ve jogged past various hallways and her study. She is somehow not surprised when he finds her bedchamber with the unerring aim of a person who spends too much time shooting things from a distance.

“Do I want to know how you know where my room is?” 

“Teach, you’re the one that told me scouting territory is a vital component of any campaign.” He gestures for her to enter.

“I didn’t know we were at war.” She walks into her room, unbuckling her cape.

There is a soft click as the door shuts. She turns back to find him watching her with a small, self-deprecating smile. “What else do you call it when you lay siege to my heart?”

“Payback?” She sits on the edge of her bed, finding the strap behind her knee that kept her armor on. 

He feigns an expression of hurt. “Well now, that’s not fair-”

Claude sucks in a breath as he finally realizes that Byleth is taking off articles of clothing, piece by piece. She tosses aside her arm greaves and reaches for her boots.

“Let me.” The request is quiet in the stillness between them, Claude’s voice a little rough.

She nods and places her hands in her lap. Claude strides over and kneels in front of her, a lithe hunter made of lightning and life. She lets out an involuntary sigh as his hands find her shin, his touch warm even through the supple leather and his gloves. He smiles, quick and impertinent, before turning his attention back to her boots. 

Claude takes his time with them, sliding the dark length of them down to her ankle and slowly maneuvering it off her foot. She shifts as his fingers find the back of her knee, stroking soft circles that send sensation dancing up her spine. He sets the boot down, and the whole torturous process begins all over again. 

Byleth’s thighs are pressed together when he’s done, and from the way his mouth quirks, she bets her face is flushed, too.

His gloved hand slides back up her leg, searing her with his heat and wanting. He traces the radiating pattern of her stockings on her thigh. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he admits.

_ I’ve missed you too _ , she wants to say, but there is no need for that. He knows she did, just as she knows he had to go.

She widens her legs just a little, an indication for him to continue. His eyes soften in response. He’s always been sharp, even if he likes to act otherwise. Claude’s greatest tactic was to pretend that he had none.

Claude’s lips find her thigh, and Byleth finds herself gripping the sheets. His hands have settled on the edge of her shorts, gently holding her in place. He kisses in slow, careful increments, pausing occasionally to lap at her with soft licks. His mouth is warmer than she imagined, leaving delicious heat to blossom everywhere he kisses. If there has been a more agonizing experience than this, Byleth can’t think of it.

He stops and looks up at her, toying with the edge of her shorts. His eyes glitter with all the things left unsaid. “Byleth.”

“Mrm.” She trails a hand through the sweep of his hair. He tilts his head into her touch, seeking comfort. “It’s okay, Claude.”

Claude’s arms, strong and steady, pull her closer so he can press his face into her stomach. She hums and slips her fingers into his collar, finding the tense knots under his neck. He sighs in appreciation, pressing the flat of his hands to her spine. They stay that way for some moments, wrapped in moonlight and the feeling of being whole again.

But the heat in Byleth’s legs lingers and Claude’s nuzzling her stomach through the gap in her clothes, his clever tongue drawing circles on her belly. Suddenly her clothes feel too tight, too constricting, too much in existence. 

“Take off your gloves,” she tells him. 

Claude, who has never met a challenge he couldn’t make worse, gives her a slow, wicked smile. He bites the tip of one glove and tugs it off with his teeth. Byleth watches, a little breathless, a little amused at his display. He repeats the process with the other glove, his free hand sneaking up her side.

"Want me to take off anything else?" Claude's tone is playful, happy to please.

"Everything," Byleth nods.

He laughs. "Okay but you're going to have to help or we'll be here all night."

She reaches for his cloak and pauldron with no hesitation, eager to feel more of his warm skin under her hands. He chuckles again, and loosens the sash around his waist, the ornaments clinking. 

When his shirt is gone, Byleth's hands roam on their own accord. He watches her with his kind gaze, content to let her do as she pleases. She is fascinated by the stories written into his corded muscle. Here a scar from one of their sparring sessions. There the mark of a rapier come too close. She wants to kiss them all and drink the stories in, make him part of her.

He catches her wayward hand from where it is tracing his collarbones. Claude raises it to his lips and kisses her knuckles lightly. 

“Your turn,” he whispers.

Fair is fair, so Byleth lets him turn her around. Instead of unlacing her corset, however, he brushes her hair aside. Once again she is assailed with tender kisses, featherlight caresses that make her knees buckle. His lips forge an incandescent path to her shoulder. Claude is apparently very serious about laying claim to her heart. She doesn’t tell him there was never a battle to be won here. 

He lifts his head, drawing a line downward between her shoulders. Byleth gasps, her entire body shuddering as Claude’s quicksilver tongue traces her ear. She reaches for him blindly, desperate in a way she’s unfamiliar with.

His amused chuckle only fuels the fire of her need some more, but he doesn’t let her go. His other hand begins undoing her corset in deft, quick tugs. For every lace he loosens, Claude presses a kiss to her exposed back. By the time he’s done, Byleth feels as if she’s drowning in sunlight, set ablaze in liquid gold.

She’s pleased to see it’s not just her that’s affected, though. Claude’s breathing is ragged, his hands are getting bolder and he’s pressing into her like he wants to meld them into one.

“Hey.” Claude strokes a fleeting touch across her ribs that has her arching. “Kiss me?”

Byleth doesn’t even have the patience to contemplate the irony of having come this far and not having kissed him yet. She twists halfway in his arms, sinks her fingers into his hair and pulls him to her. He has a split second to be surprised before their lips meet.

And then Byleth is wondering why she didn’t do this earlier. Claude tastes good, but more than that, he feels good in a way she can’t describe. His lips are telling her secrets, his fears and his hopes, all the things she’s wanted to share with him. Byleth kisses him back fiercely, promising to cherish them all.

Claude shifts and picks her up without breaking the kiss. Cool linen meets her back as he lays her on the bed. Before she can reach for his face, Claude places her hand on his chest.

“I came back for you,” he murmurs, steady as his heartbeat. “Will you have me?”

Byleth blinks. After holding his gaze long enough to make him concerned, she pulls her hand away from him and shows him the proof of their promise.

She smiles. “You never left.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Episode two of me writing fandoms I am not actually involved in. This one was a birthday fic written in 2019 for a great friend.


End file.
